


Under Wandering Stars

by Tabithian



Series: Foundations [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be honest, this is not exactly the way Tim pictured his life would turn out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Wandering Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Based off an old [AU of ridiculousness](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/tagged/Foundations). /o\

Tim had a car once. 

The salesman had used words like "gently used" and "fuel efficient" and "I like you, kid, so I'll give you a deal."

Somewhere between Renaissance Red and Garnet Pearl, it was more cantankerous than temperamental. 

Running rough in winter, and Tim knew it was going to be a good day if the heater kicked in when he warmed it up in the morning before classes. He had to keep jugs of water in the trunk when the weather turned the slightest bit warm in case it overheated, and he had to keep an eye on the odometer as an indicator when he needed to refill the gas tank because the fuel gauge was faulty.

Still.

That car stuck it out with him through college and a little beyond that, belligerent, moody, and stubborn, and Tim still doesn't know why he was so fond of it. 

*******

"This is why I don't have a car of my own.”

He's aware of his passenger eyeing him oddly, nerves running high.

"This isn't my car," Tim says, passing a slow moving bus. "A...friend had some errands he needed me to run, so I'm borrowing his car."

"Kid, I don't fucking care."

"He's sick," Tim goes on, which is close enough to the truth. "He's kind of an idiot, really."

"You do know what's going on here, right?"

Tim brings the car to a stop, traffic light a bright, clear red ahead of them. His passenger made it very clear drawing attention would be a bad thing right now.

"Well," Tim says, shrug in his voice. "This is Gotham."

And if Tim was smart, he'd move. 

Somewhere like Metropolis maybe, or Keystone City. He has friends from college there, people who'd looked at him a little askance when he'd said he actually loved Gotham. 

Given current circumstances, Tim understands why.

"The fuck does that even mean?"

Tim turns to look at his passenger, gaze dropping to the gun he's holding on Tim just out of sight of passing vehicles. 

"It means this is pretty much how I lost my car," Tim says, which is actually true.

Gotham is a peculiar kind of city, full of peculiar people.

"What?"

Somewhere behind them Tim can just make out the growl of a ridiculously overpowered engine, and a glance to the rear-view shows a fast moving blur weaving through traffic. 

“Don't worry about it,” Tim says, right as the fast-moving blur swerves around their stopped car to a screeching halt in front of them, blocking the intersection.

And because this is Gotham, Tim's already popped his seat-belt and ducked low behind the steering wheel. He gets one last glimpse of his passenger, wide-eyed as he swings his gun away from Tim toward the more immediate threat.

“I wouldn't - “ is as far as Tim gets before the sound of a gunshot fills the air and his passenger lets out a sound of pain, gun tumbling from his hands to the floorboard next to Tim.

“Fuck,” the guy moans, scrabbling at his shoulder blossoming blood, and Tim - 

Tim snatches the gun, opens the driver's side door and tumbles out of the car when his passenger makes a last desperate grab for him. Rolls to his knees and freezes when he see the bike's rider stalking towards them, menace in every step.

He gets a sideways glance as the rider moves past, ripping the passenger side door open and yanking Tim's passenger out.

Tim's passenger squeaks in fear, taking in the unmistakable red of the rider's helmet and the bat on his chest.

“Hey, asshole,” Red Hood says, like he's greeting an old friend. “I thought we talked about this.”

A quiet whimper, weak struggles as Red Hood jerks the man closer. “Looks like I need to refresh your memory.”

*******

To be honest, this is not exactly the way Tim pictured his life would turn out. 

He was supposed to follow in his parents footsteps, take over the company, but. 

Life happened.

He ended up with a nice, normal, nine to five office job after his parents lost the company. Something that offered financial security and stability with the potential for more, if he worked at it. 

Office attire with “Casual Fridays” scattered in there and a quiet, restrained holiday party at the end of the year. Tasteful balloons and streamers with a splash of paper confetti on birthdays, flowers for Valentine's.

He hadn't hated it, exactly, but it had been. 

Stifling.

Enough so that he'd thought taking responsibility for an apartment building his parents had bought hoping to make a profit, and lost track of in the chaos of Drake Industries going under was a _good_ idea.

*******

“Mr. Drake,” Commissioner Gordon says, frowns.

Tim smiles politely, waits.

He honestly doesn't know what it say about him, his life, that he's used to this. Knows the way from the police station garage to Commissioner Gordon's office and back again. Where the break room and its questionable coffee is.

How to fill out the necessary paperwork, fill in the blanks, sign here, initial there, and done.

Commissioner Gordon seems to be thinking something along the same lines when he sighs, rueful smile edging the frown out. “I'll have someone take you home.”

“I'd appreciate that, thank you,” Tim says, tired and sore and more than ready to call it a day.

*******

Tim probably should have known better, the first time he saw the building.

From the outside, the apartment building looks. 

Normal. Average.

Red bricks and gleaming windows and metal fire escapes zigzagging up the back. Dark alley on one side, abandoned lot on the other that might be better described as a small jungle, overgrown and a known refuge for neighborhood strays.

He should have known better.

*******

“What the hell happened to my car?”

Tim sighs, drops the keys into Jason's outstretched hand. “Gotham happened.”

Jason scowls at him, and Tim.

“Didn't the doctor say you needed to rest?” Tim asks, waving a hand at Jason and his many injuries. “What with the everything you have going on right now and all.” 

If he has to play this game, he's going to be as annoying about it as he can, because.

“You're my landlord, not my mom,” Jason shoots back, staring at the keys in his hand. “Seriously, what happened?”

“I'm pretty sure landlords aren't supposed to run errands for their tenants,” Tim points out. “I mean, I didn't read the fine print when I took the job, but...”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Hilarious, Tim.”

“You said you were thinking of getting rid of it,” Tim points out.

He's reasonably sure he doesn't want to ask where Jason even got it because there had been bullet holes in the car before Tim's little adventure. 

Jason gives him an unimpressed look for that, which. Understandable.

Tim starts to turn away to leave, and stops when he feels Jason's hand on his arm.

“The hell is that?” Jason asks, voice tight. 

He's staring at Tim's face, and right, right. _That_.

Jason hadn't been there for that part, and when he showed up he was a little too busy with the carjacker to get a good look at Tim before the police arrived.

Tim opens his mouth, closes it. Squints at Jason. 

“I swear to God, if you say Gotham happened one more time - “

Tim can't help it if that's a valid explanation for a great many things that happen to him because, well, _Gotham_.

“Carjacking,” he says. Tries for a smile when Jason's eyes narrow. “Your car's in the impound lot, and may or may not have a bullet hole or two in it, so.”

Also, Tim now knows what it's like to be pistol whipped, so there's that.

“Jesus Christ,” Jason says, aggrieved. “You're such an asshole.”

Tim shrugs. He never claimed otherwise. 

*******

Tim found out in the second week of his new job that nearly a third of the tenants in the apartment building had rap sheets longer than his arm.

He finds this out two ways. 

First by going through the files of the previous landlord and reading the screening records, and second - 

When Tim was younger he was what some might call a...fan of Batman and Robin. He's long destroyed any incriminating pictures and negatives, but. 

Tim actually remembers seeing Batman and Robin take several of his tenants down in a flurry of punches and kicks and swirling capes.

...Awkward.

*******

Jason's decided.

He hasn't quite moved into Tim's apartment following the carjacking so much as he's slowly taking over.

Claiming Tim's couch and television while Tim does paperwork and glaring at Tim's other tenants when they come to see him about one issue or another.

Grudgingly adding repair requests to the little checklist Tim has hanging up on the wall for him to deal with later in exchange for knocking a little off his rent.

“You're too soft on them,” Jason says.

Tim looks up from his laptop, glasses slipping a little. “They're trying.”

Jason snorts, turns his attention back to the television. “They're criminals.”

Tim. Doesn't quite sigh, but.

“Reformed criminals,” he says, like he's done countless times in the past. “They're trying.”

There's Mortimer on the second floor who doesn't always make his rent on time but makes up for it by fixing things around the building when Jason's gone. Louis on the third who brings home scraps from his job in a grocery store meat department for the strays. Annie on the fifth floor with the scarred up knuckles and can fix anything mechanical.

Just a few of them, but they _are_ trying and Jason knows it.

Wordless grumbling, Jason shifting to take pressure off his ribs, and a dark scowl aimed Tim's way when he catches Tim watching him like he knows what Tim's thinking.

Tim smiles, because they're not the only ones trying.

******

Tim lost his car when Gotham was in one its crises, a new villain making an appearance.

Tim coming home from work later than he'd wanted, very carefully not wondering about the police cars and ambulances screaming down Gotham's streets, and - 

Someone breaking the driver's side window, glass raining over Tim, and a snarled, "Hey, buddy, I need your fucking car, get _out._ ”

The most memorable part had been being glared at by someone in a red helmet with a bat on his chest. 

*******

 _Gotham_.


End file.
